A Parting

“I really appreciate this,” he says, as he opens the door to let me inside.

“Come on!” shouts his wife in the background. “Come and say goodbye to Simeon. We’re never going to see him again.”

The boy unsteadily walks out of the hallway, hand oustretched. “Bye Simeon,” he says.

“In here is all the medical information. He was just vaccinated in December, so you don’t have to worry about that for a while. And here is his wet food. The vet says he’s overweight, but he really likes it, so I still give him a teaspoonful every night. I’ve typed it all out for you.”

“Thank you.”

“And here,” he says, handing me an envelope, “is this.”

“No,” I say. “I don’t need that. It’s fine.”

“No. Take it. He’s going to need a new bed soon. It’s just to make sure that he has everything he needs.”

“Honey, he’s run under the couch.”

“Okay,” he says, pressing the envelope into my hand. “I’ll get him.”

“We really appreciate this,” she says, bouncing the baby on her hip. “We’ve had him from the start. Our son was fine, but ever since our daughter was born it’s just been miserable.”

I look at the line of red peaks snaking around the baby’s neck. “I understand,” I say. “You’re in a tough spot.”

The boy tugs at her shirt. “Where is Simeon going?” he asks.

“With this gentleman,” she says. “But we still have the pictures. We’ll look at them whenever we miss him.”

Behind her, the man is holding Simeon. He starts to bend down, but then stops. He flips him over and looks at him, and holds him, and says nothing. Then he continues down and gently locks the door.